Jonathon Carter
by cookiemonster01
Summary: Heroes' AU, future. Fifteen years ago the love of Jack O'Neill's life died in combat. Heartbroken, he retires and disapears, taking up the alternate name of 'Jonathon Carter' and a teaching post far away from his previous life.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: They're not mine, the story is.

A/N: It's not finished yet.

Fifteen years ago the Stargate went public. Two months previously actions by a journalist embedded on a mission caused the death of Samantha Carter. Heartbroken, her CO Colonel Jack O'Neill retired and disappeared. When the story broke he was nowhere to be found. He removed himself completely from his old life, taking up a teaching post in a remote South Dakota high school to pay his way through life. And so hie lived on an empty existence, during the day he taught and kept up the charade. During the night he sat and regretted his actions untaken, the words unsaid and the feelings denied. There were only two things in life that Jack O'Neill felt guilty about: the death of his son, Charlie and not telling Sam how he really felt about her. Charlie and Sam. The regret he would carry with him to his grave.

Sighing defeatedly he looked at the clock once more and decided there was no point trying to get back to sleep. He could probably turn up to school in an hour or two. It should be open by then, he thought. Slowly he dragged himself out of bed and along to the kitchen where he put on some coffee. While he waited he went back to his bedroom and pulled on a worn pair of cargo pants bought a few years ago from and ex-army store, and his sneakers. Ys, unbelievably he _did have_ sneakers. He tried to imagine the look on Daniel's face had he ever seen him like this and laughed inwardly.

By the time Jack was ready to leave the coffee was ready and he sat down and had a slurp to wake him up a bit before he loosed himself on the poor drivers of South Dakota. He liked going running in the mornings. Apart from keeping himself in shape he still liked to see the looks on the drivers faces. It wasn't everyday you saw a sixty-eight year old man putting himself through a grueling five mile run. Well, it was for some, many of whom were his own students. It perpetuated the myth that he was some war-ravaged ex-army guy who, if you valued your life, it was better to leave the hell alone. He certainly didn't do anything to dispel it. It left him in peace to contemplate his mistakes and generally torture himself.

Waving to Mr Hopkins sitting on his porch across the street, Jack left his house and after a quiet run, waved again as he got back. Jack showered, dressed and got ready for work. A blue shirt that somehow looked smarter on him without the tie, smartly pressed suit trousers and well polished shoes. He ate a bowl of fruit loops before he left his house once more. He got into his truck and pulled up outside Mr Hopkins' who immediately appeared and got in up front beside Jack.

"Steve."

"Jon."

And that was it. Apart from when he was teaching, Steven Hopkins didn't think he'd heard his neighbor speak two words. Like Steve, Jack was in the English department. Ironic then, that even though the most he ever spoke was in his classroom; even then he hardly spoke more than a few sentences in an hour. And he still somehow managed to get his students the best grades in the school.

"How's Jane?"

"Oh, you know. Good. Baby was moving around a lot last night. I think it's getting close. Says she'll page me if anything- you wouldn't mind give me a ride to the hospital would you?"

"Sure."

"Thanks."

At that point the conversation stopped 'til they got to work. Jonathon Carter was always first to work and last to leave, often well after the principal. Jane would have liked her husband to drive himself so that he could spend more time at home. As it was, Steve usually was the one to ask Jon to drive him home. Steve was the closest thing, as far as he could see, that his neighbor had to either family or friend and he took it upon himself to do the best he could to take care of him: getting up early to wave to him as he left and got back from his morning run; riding with him to work even though Steve could easily drive himself and would have liked, in his own dream world, to leave later and get back earlier. Still, he wasn't complaining. He actually quite liked their rides together. Sometimes Steve caught a glimpse of some other man his secretive neighbor, the man Steve guessed Jon used to be. Plus, if the truth be told, Steve was a bit of a wimp whereas Jon was frighteningly fit and strong, especially for his age. If any of the school's more unruly students ever decide to have a go at him, as the used to when he was still a new young teacher, it was a lot less likely to happen if he walked in with someone as revered as Jonathon Carter. And to prove his point, it never had. Hon looked over at his neighbor and sighed as he compared the man's sharply cut, silvery white hair, his lean frame and lack of baldness with his own needing-cut-and-starting-to-fall-out-anyway hair and the belly that was starting to show.

"What?"

"I just wish I could age as well as you, Jon. How come you never found a lady friend to keep you company all these years?" The man's face was expressionless. Steve guessed he'd got a lot of practice at that look.

"I did once." Jack said. Then more quietly, as if talking to someone else, "I could have had anyway. Should have." Jack pulled his truck into the school parking lot.

"We're here." He announced unnecessarily a as he did every morning, only this time it gave him the opportunity to change the subject onto something less personal.

"Thanks for the ride." Steve replied.

"No problem." Jack mumbled, used to the routine.

* * *

A few hours later, Jack's third class filed into his classroom and silently sat down. The students were equally curious and fearful about their enigmatic teacher and for some reason it was generally considered a bad idea to chat casually in his classroom. The man just had this aura about him…

"Mac, page 32" Jack said, turning round from the window he was staring out. His lessons were always like that, starting as if they had never stopped in the first place. As Michael McKinley opened his book to the correct place the door opened. The inspectors, Jack realized. How could he have forgotten? Jack nodded to the man in his sharp suit then caught the eye of Melissa, a bright but reluctant student, sitting at the back of the class. Without protest she got up and shifted herself to the spare seat at the front. Marveling at the man's control of the class, the inspector accepted the book handed to him by the teacher, Mr Carter, he remembered, and sat down at the back of the class. 'Heart of Darkness' he mused. 'Interesting'.

"Mac, 32." Jack repeated.

" 'It seems to me I am trying to tell you a dream – making a vain attempt, because no relation of a dream can convey the dream – sensation, that commingling of absurdity, surprise and bewilderment in a tremor of struggling revolt, that notion of being captured by the incredible which is of the very essence of dreams…'

He was silent for a while.

'No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one's existence, - that which makes its truth, its meaning – it's subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live as we dream – alone…' "

"Thankyou, Mac. Peters, sort the desks." The inspector looked on in bewilderment as all the desks were shifted to the edge of the room and all the students arranged themselves in a casual circle in the centre of the classroom with Mr Carter at the top of the room near his desk and himself at the back, feeling completely out of place. He noted with interest that Jonathon Carter sat in one of the student chairs, as if he was one of them.

" 'We live as we dream – alone…' Is Conrad right?" And so for the next hour the students took part in a lively debate arguing over page 32, the book in general, its message, whether Conrad was right, whether therefore it was still relevant and back to page thirty-two. Five minutes before the end the desks were moved back and once again everyone sat in silence. For the whole debate Jack had avoided saying anything, instead listening to the students and marveling at their insight into the novel. Since it was nearly the end, the inspector started to get up but stopped when one student, who had been particularly quiet during the lesson raised his hand.

"Robertson?"

"What do _you _think, sir?" Jack inwardly admitted to being completely taken aback by the question but didn't let any of it show on his face. The whole room watched captivated as he got up and paced across the classroom and back before stopping beside the student's front row desk and looking directly at him. They locked eyes and for a few brief seconds, the boy thought he saw into his teacher's soul before Mr Carter looked away, his eyes guarded once more.

"I think you know what I think. Now that you've discussed it I want you to write me an essay. Five hundred words for Thursday. Is Conrad right?" The bell went and they all exited the classroom, the inspector with them.

* * *

Lunch, the principal's office, where the principal and her depute are sitting eating lunch.

"Where else have they been?"

"Hmm? Oh…um, Hank Williams in Chemistry, Zara's Spanish room-" the principal was nodding along to the list and put another mouthful of chicken salad sandwich into his mouth.

"…And Jonathon Carter's English class." For less than a second he stopped chewing, then continued on as if nothing had happened.

"Oh."

"I thought you might say that."

Principal Wallace, I've talked to my colleagues and overall we're very impressed with the school. Nevertheless there are certain things I am rather concerned about. First of all, basic health and safety in science classes – you have to make sure all of the students wear goggles. We can't afford a law suit here. Secondly, I'm rather concerned about the availability of so-called 'soft' drugs such as cannabis. The parents don't like it and we can't be seen to be ignoring the problem. Finally, a particular English teacher who caught my eye – Jonathon Carter?"

"I thought this might come up."

"For starters, isn't he past retirement age?"

"He's more of a permanent stand-in. Look, I know he sometimes uses some rather unorthadox teaching methods but his classes get SATs on average a full point higher than their peers. No one can quite work out how, but that has to count for something."

"We realize that you consider him to be a valuable asset to school but the new board of governors feels that his methods, and his manner, don't really fit in with the ethos they're trying to create."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm sorry. He has to go."

"I'm sorry, Jon, it's not my decision. I've talked to some of your colleagues and the board and if you want we'll still refer students to you as a recommended tutor. There are al lot of kids who could still benefit from your help, Jon. Think about it." Blunt as always, Jack went straight to the point.

"When do I leave?"

"End of the week."

* * *

As he tidied up after his final class – freshmen apparently without any idea of the wonders of Shakespere – he saw a shadow pass over the doorway and could tell immediately who it was.

"Robertson."

"Mr. Carter, sir."

"How's the new family going?"

"It's ok, sir. I'm waiting out til I can get my own place. Maybe work a few years, save some money to go to college."

"Scholorships?"

"Well sir, I was sort of wondering, I mean, I know you're very busy but I could really use some extra tuition."

"Sure."

"Really?" Jack looked the young man straight in the eye.

"You have potential Jim." It was the second time his teacher had looked him in the eye that day and it was honestly freaking him out.

"Thank you, Mr. Carter."

"Anytime."

* * *

"Jon, for what It's worth, I'm sorry." Steve said on the way home the next day. "Why don't you come over for dinner tonight. There's something Jane and I would like to discuss with you."

Jack accepted the invitation. After his last day at school he was feeling a bit down and could use the company. It was at times like this that he missed his old friends most, especially Sam. Of course he kept up with the papers, watched – with some amusement and a certain amount of relief – people refer to 'Jack O'Neill' or talk about him as if he was dead. Daniel and Teal'c seemed to be happy. With the Goa'uld now mostly defeated, it was mostly scientific stuff that Daniel got up to. Of courses there were certain other enemies on the horizon but none of them had proved to be too big a threat as yet. Not that he really cared all that much. After such a long time the bitterness and self-hatred within Jack had grown. He kept going now because there wasn't really any other option.

Now Jack found himself retired for the final time. With much more time on his hands, however, he still kept up the same daily routine: up early, five mile run, come out to wave Steve goodbye. In the early afternoon Jack often found himself napping and although part of him was annoyed at yet another indicator that Jack O'Neill, or even Jonathon Carter, was getting old, he enjoyed the restfulness of those times. After his nap, in the late afternoon, students would come for English tuition which brought in a welcome bit of extra cash. Having taught at a private boys school his salary had probably been much higher than the average teacher, despite being only part time. Still, his job loss had hit him harder than he'd anticipated. Not that he was poor by any means, just that most of his money was set aside for particular causes or difficult to access without his cover being blown.

Jack had, for a long time, considered English to be an artistic outlet, and while he enjoyed art and music, he was never much good at either of them. While he had always failed miserably at the sciences at school he had always enjoyed English and got consistently high grades, much to his father's relief. Every so often he'd contemplated writing his own work. Without any living descendants some neolithic part of him felt he had a duty to leave some sort of legacy, while his conscience felt he owed it to his fellow man to explain what had happened to the mythical figure of 'Jack O'Neill' and justify his actions. One particular morning, a few months after he'd retired, he woke up after a vivid dream and while he had forgotten most of it he remembered a poignant snippet of his past.

_"Ever thing of writing a book yourself, Jack?"_

_"Yeah, but then I'd have to shoot anyone who actually read it."_

After an extra long run that morning he still couldn't get it out of his mind and so he dug out a couple of pads of paper – stolen long time ago from an SGC supply closet, and sat down outside in the sun. With no particular idea what had possessed him he started writing an autobiography, right from the start. The very start. From then on he fell into the habit of writing in the mornings when no one was around to get curious about what he was up to. He usually fell asleep while writing it and then woke up about 2:30pm giving him time to clear up and visit Jane and the baby before his first student arrived.

* * *

Shortly after Jon's retirement, Steve had been delighted at the birth of his first child, a son. With no relatives for a couple of states Jack had been appointed surrogate grandfather, much to his own embarrassment. Steve knew his neighbor wasn't good with the whole emotion thing, at least when it came to discussing them, but he knew this didn't mean that Jon didn't feel anything. In fact Steve had a sneaking suspicion he channeled all his worldly frustrations into his fiction. Steve would have loved to read whatever it was Jon was supposedly writing. Jane had often witnessed him scribbling away in the mornings on his front porch but both husband and wife had chosen not to mention it to the gentleman since he seemed to think no one saw him.

In all honesty, Steve couldn't understand why Jon didn't have any children – he loved playing with Jonathan at least. Their neighbor had been more than embarrassed by the tribute but Steve and Jane were both adamant that it was sticking. To distinguish the two, Steve supposed, Jon had started calling Jonathon 'Jack' and Steve couldn't help himself – the name stuck. Of course this was partly because the kid burst into a fit of giggles whenever the new, abbreviated version of his name was said out loud. Since the baby's birth, Jon had often come over after lunch to help with his 'grandson' and although he'd never admit it to anyone, it was obvious from his demeanor that he loved it. Occasionally after his last student left Jon would wander over on Jane's invitation for a home cooked meal, a friendly chat and an update as to the state of the new state of the now frighteningly conservative school. Much to Jack's amusement, Steve took to quoting lines from 'Dead Poet's Society' but feigning lethargy Jack would often retire back to his own home early. In truth, the love between his neighbors and their beautiful family arrangement often left him feeling melancholic when he saw them all together and it was nights like this that he returned not to sleep but to write the darkest and most secret sections of his life's story.

His early years, Charlie's short-lived childhood, the happier Stargate times and his later years were written about in his chair in the mornings; but his black ops years, the years after Charlie's death, the aftermath of Sam's death, the parts of his history that defined who he was and who he had become, the revelations of what he really felt in the depth of his soul during the events he lived through and the guilt and sorrow that would haunt his soul forevermore could only be written in the darkest hours of the night. The time when it seemed the sun would never rise again, those few hours of the night where the monsters under the beds of babes crept out to reek havoc on the world. Only the darkness was witness as the doorway to his soul opened and his darkened, cloudy heart was, for a short time, set free. As the reasons for his regret were remembered and the memories surfaced, the emotional core of him burst forth and more than once he, the hardened soldier, the black ops trained assassin and the silent survivor of unimaginable torture at the hands of his enemies, both on and offworld, cried himself to sleep.

* * *

Ten years later, and Jack's story had been finished. It was fall when he finally laid down his pen and his surrogate grandson had long ago started school. Both loved the other to bits, but with his text complete his reason for persevering through old age, had dissipated. The world's grip on Jack began to loosen and only a week after he laid down his pen, with his affairs finally in order, Young Jack rushed home from school one afternoon to find his grandfather wouldn't wake up from his chair. He'd suffered a massive heart attack in his sleep. The autopsy however, left doctors mystified – there was nothing physically wrong with him to explain the cause of death.

The Saturday following Jonathon Carter's death Steve went over to try and sort out the house. After a boring morning picking through and cataloguing most of the less personal objects in the house, Steve noticed for the first time a picture frame sitting face down on the coffee table in the living room. It was directly in front of the seat Jon had been sitting in when he'd passed away. Curious, he picked it up and turned it over.


	2. chapter 2

A/N: I've not had a lot of time for writing lately but here's something to keep you going. Thankyou for all your reviews, i enjoy getting feedback, positive or constructive so i'd love to know what you think of this bit. Mu-san, what i meant was that i'm usually more of a 'happily ever after' person; gatefan452, he wasn't watching the papers for news of Sam he was watching to keep up with what's happening with his friends and the stargate. He misses Sam _because_ she's dead. Sorry for the confusion.

Stumbling backwards in shock Steve fell into the deceased man's chair and stared dumbfounded at the photograph in his hand. Inside a plain oak frame sat a photograph of the woman the whole world knew to be Samantha Carter of the team SG-1. In the picture she was basking in the warmth of a summer late afternoon sun. She was sitting staring into the distance in somebody's back garden – it could hardly be called a yard – and judging from her relaxed body language and distant look she obviously hadn't noticed the photographer. It was like no photograph of her anyone had ever seen. What with her floaty summer dress and the amazing late afternoon light she looked nothing short of a goddess and even as a married man he couldn't help but admire her. He certainly understood why the old man had. The question 'why' immediately came into his mind – why did it come to be in his possession? How? Steve was simultaneously baffled and, for once, completely speechless. Yet his curiosity had been piqued and he found hecouldn't simply let it go. The question naggled at him. Why would some lonely old South Dakota teacher have what looked like a very personal photography of the world's most brilliant, good looking and definitely female astrophysicist, even if it had been twenty five years since her death. At that moment Steve remembered about the novel his neighbor used to spend his mornings scribbling away at and wondered if it might offer some clue. He'd never seen it lying about and decided that the bedroom was probably the best place to start looking. For a second he paused, reluctant to go looking about Jon's more personal items. "Well," he finally decided, "he is dead."

Cautiously he opened the door and peered into the room. The undertakers hadn't been in here, they'd asked Steve to bring along a suit later in the week – this room was exactly how his neighbor had left it. A ray of sunlight escaped through the half open curtains, catching him in the eyes and blinding him before he stepped out of the way and gazed with awe and wonder at his surroundings. The bed was perfectly made, the sheets new, the carpet recently cleaned. Dirty laundry in the basket everything tidied away in its place. The photos of SG-1 On the mantle didn't have a spec of dust, the long-sought-after-but-never-before-found picture of Jack O'Neill with his son Charlie in his baseball gear, a home made model of the gate in one corner with a polished plaque engraved with the Earth coordinates screwed to it's base, the airforce colonel's uniform sitting at the back of his armoire, the medals with 'Jack O'Neill' inscribed on the reverse buried not-so-subtly at the bottom of a drawer in his bedside table. They all pointed to one thing. Something Steve wasn't sure if he was ready to acknowledge. Despite all this, what freaked him out most was the envelope he found sitting on the bed with 'Steve' inked in handwriting which belonged to someone else other than the man who had lived so long in this house. They'd worked together for several years, he should know. With trembling hands he picked it up. It read like this:

Dear Steve,

You may have guessed by now that I wasn't always the man you know me as. I wasn't always called Mr Jonathon Carter, my real name is Jack O'Neill and I was a Colonel in the United States Air force. If you're reading this I didn't make it back to bed tonight This is not a suicide note, the only way I can explain it is to say that my time has come. I'm with Sam now, where I always should have been but never got up the courage to ask. The lawyer will come to talk to you after the funeral I expect, but just in case, everything's for Jack apart from a few items for Daniel which are boxed up in the garage. Since Sam and Charlie Jack's the closest I got to being happy. You'll understand better once you read the book. It's in shoe boxes under the bed. Publish it.

Well I guess you should go call Daniel now. Get the secretary to ask him about "the tin man" and you should get through.

I'm sorry.

Jon/Jack

For a good ten minutes after reading it Steve did nothing. Having sat down on the bed in shock he remained there for some time, his attention flicking between the note and the popular poster of a starmap with the worlds that SG-1 had explored so long ago indicated. A picture of the team was in the bottom right corner with the SGC emblem at the top. A short paragraph of indecipherable writing adorned the bottom left hand corner of the page. Steve studied it in detail while he contemplated his discovery. The poster had been a present from Steve's son to his grandfather. Gradually coming to his senses, albeit that his mind still refused to fully comprehend the magnitude of the situation, Steven reluctantly got up and left the bedroom. He knew what he had to do, what he had been charged with, trusted with. He knew that magnitude of this discovery, the consequences for himself and for the world. Yes, he knew what he had to do, but that didn't mean that he was looking forward to it.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks for the reviews guys. I like to get constructive criticism and ideas as to where you'd like the story to go and i try to factor those into the story. Sorry it's been a while but i've had lots of deadlines for dissertations. jmcqk6, he died of a broken heart. Sad i know, it is the story somewhere although it's a bit subtle; kramogh Steve's son is called Jack, just to confuse the poor readers a bit more. Again it's in the story...

* * *

"…Mr President, I know what the situation is and for exactly that reason going in guns blazing is not the best way to solve the standoff! We have to show both of them that we're neutral and offer them the opportunity to solve this diplomatically. Shooting indiscriminately at anything that moves is not most people's definition of neutral!"

"I'll take your view into consideration Dr. Jackson. I'll contact you later to fill you in on the situation."

"But sir-" The screen went blank. He could hardly believe that he was still having now the same arguments he'd been having at the beginning of SG-1. Disheartened he moved over to the percolator stood on an antique walnut table at the edge of his university office. Despite lecturing here in Chicago a few times a week, Daniel still spent a lot of time in Colorado and D.C. trying to prevent the more gung-ho members of the government from simply nuking everyone out there they didn't like. As a result he frequently pissed off politicians both on and off world. Sighing he sat back in his chair. Maybe he was getting too old for all this. With Teal'c still looking no more than 40 and the other half of the team either dead or living as a hermit he was feeling increasingly isolated. If it wasn't for Sarah, he supposed he might even get depressed.

Daniel sat back down behind his desk with a cup of coffee when the screen at the left side of his desk suddenly come to life.

"Doctor Jackson." He immediately recognized his young secretary from his main office in Washington D.C.

"Miss Peters."

"I'm sorry to interrupt sir but there's someone on the line who insists on talking to you. He asked me to say that it concerned 'the tin man.'"

"You're sure he said the tin man?"

"Yes, sir."

"Patch it through."

"Dr Jackson-" Daniel just started at the screen until his secretary gave in with a sigh. The face of a man in his early middle ages appeared on the screen. His hair –what was left of it – was starting to turn gray and he was getting chubby. From first appearances he looked like a typical bored suburban.

"Can I help you?" Daniel started the conversation.

"Dr. Jackson!" Daniel sighed.

"Last time I checked. What do you know about the tin man?" Daniel was now in investigative archaeologist mode and wanted to get to the point as fast as possible.

"Jonathon told me to say that." He blurted out. "Jonathon Carter."

"Jonathon Carter!"

"My neighbor. It all seems like some sort of sick joke but the medals and the uniform and the photos – and the letter!"

"Mr-"

"Hopkins. Steve."

"Steve, do you know who the tin man is?" Daniel asked urgently.

"The tin man is colonel Jack O'Neill of SG-1, I believe. And if I'm correct he's been living here in South Dakota for the past 25 years under the psydonym 'Jonathon Carter.'"

"South Dakota." Daniel repeated sarcastically.

"You think I'm kidding."

"I think you're probably a tabloid journalist. Prove me wrong."

"Well for starters there's this letter." Steve held it up so that it was visible for Daniel who gazed open mouthed. It was definitely Jack's handwriting.

"Jack? A book? The garage?"

"Jack's my son. We called him Jonathon after, well, Jonathon but he always insisted on calling him Jack. It sort of stuck." He smiled. "And yeah, Jon's been writing a book. Ever since he retired 10 years ago." Seeing the Doctor's curious look he elaborated. "He used to teach English at the private school down the road. I haven't checked the garage yet."

"Anything else?"

"There's this." He presented the model Stargate from the bedroom. "And his uniform, and the medals – three purple hearts! And there's the photos." Steve unexpectedly found his eyesight misting up and blinked away the tears. Steve held up a selection of unpublished photographs of Sg-1 both on and off world successfully persuading Daniel that at least he was probably telling the truth, when something in his mind clicked.

"Wait a minute, how did you get all this stuff. If you his neighbor as you say you are where's Jack?"

"Doctor Jackson, the man I knew as Jonathon Carter is…dead."

"I'm sorry, what?" 

"He died, two days ago."

"How?"

"Heart attack. Apparently. Strange thing is the doctors couldn't find anything to explain the cause of death. He might have been getting on in years but he was the healthiest man I knew. Still went running every morning."

"You said they couldn't explain the cause of death!"

"My son, Jack was very close to Jon. He always falls asleep in the afternoons; Jack usually goes over there after school. On Thursday afternoon he wouldn't wake up from his nap. Jack was devastated. He always called Jon 'Grandpa', they were very close. I found this on the coffee table in front of his armchair." Steve held up the photograph of Sam. The moment Daniel saw the photo clearly he demanded:

"Open it up!"

"Sorry?"

"The back! open it up!" Steve did so. Daniel realized for the first time that what he was being told might actually be true, and this could be the proof.

"There's something on the back of the photo." He murmured.

"Read it!"

"Um…Jack – I think – here's something I thought you'd like to have. Your time will come Jack." Daniel mouthed the words as he heard them spoken out loud. "It's not signed."

"Hmm? No. I didn't." Daniel's eye's went unfocused for a few moments while he contemplated what to do. "I'll fly out!" He decided emphatically to no one in particular. "Today and I'll go military, less obvious." Steve cleared his throat to get the man's attention, unsure of what was happening. On Daniel's request Steve gave him his address and directions for his street.

"I have to go. I'll be there as soon as I can." The screen went blank. Steve relaxed and sighed deeply.

"Well, it could have been worse. It could have been a lot worse!" He mused. Then it hit him. "Shit! Doctor Jackson's coming here. _HERE!_"

TBC


	4. chapter 4

A/N: Well this is the final chapter guys, you might need a few tissues for this. If things aren't exactly accurate then consider it artistic license, (except spelling/grammar/typos which are down to me and possibly the microsoft word spelling and grammar checker.

* * *

The first and only thing Steve could think of doing was going to tell Jane, which is exactly what he did. Jack, who was innocently listening in on his parents' conversation as soon as his father announced who their father really was.

"Wow." Jane sat down on hearing her husband's news. "I don't know what to say. What do we tell Jack?"

"It's ok mom" he burst in "I know."

"You know." Steve repeated

"Grandpa used to tell me bedtime stories about his adventures. I've always known. I'm sorry I didn't tell you dad, but it was our secret. I promised Grandpa."

"That's ok." Steve answered. "No wonder you always insisted he tuck you in. That's why you gave him the poster last year?"

"Yeah." It also explained his son's obsession with anything space or stargate related and his claims that one day he was going to be a famous astrophysicist, just like Sam Carter. "I miss him, Dad."

"I miss him too son." Steve hugged his son. "But there's more." He continued afterwards. "Doctor Jackson is coming tonight."

"What!" Jane exclaimed. "I need a drink." And she wandered out of the room to try and get a hold on what was happening.

"Dad, is mom gonna be alright?"

"Sure she is, son. It's just a lot to take in right now. How about we go over to Jon's house for a while and give her some space."

"Really?"

"Sure. Go ahead, I'll join you in a minute."

* * *

The first thing Doctor Daniel Jackson after the call was to cancel all his classes, appointments and meetings in the upcoming days and grabbing his overnight bag from the cupboard he got into his car and drove to the nearest base. He night be a bit too left of centre for a lot of the people currently in power but there was no denying that many in the military would bend over backwards to help him. As it was he know most of the staff here quite well. He was the military's equivalent of a frequent flier and as a result the request for an unscheduled flight to South Dakota was granted with few questions asked. After all, he was the Doctor Jackson.

* * *

After talking to his wife, Steve headed over to his neighbor's house to spend some quality time with his son and in a way, Jon. Soon it was getting late and both headed home carrying the unopened boxes if literature. After a late dinner Jack was sent to bed amid much protest although it was nearly his usual bedtime. Jane went up to say goodnight and afterwards went to bed herself more tired than usual. Finally having some peace, Steve carried the boxes to the living room, and started reading.

* * *

By the time Daniel reached his destination it was late, almost early in fact. Daniel got out of the car along with the airman he'd blagged from the base he'd flown into. He took a quick look up and down the quiet edge-of-town street and wondered which of the houses scattered around here belonged to Jack. He looked up at the house next to him and checked the number. It was definitely the address he'd been given, and the lights were on which was always a good sign, he thought. While the lieutenant stayed by the car, Daniel walked up to the door and knocked twice. Within seconds the door was opened by the man he'd spoken to earlier that day. Daniel saw a young boy's head appear down the hall but chose not to mention it.

"Steven Hopkins. Steve."

"Daniel." They shook hands.

"Please, come in." Steve wandered off, Daniel following him. Seeing the boy follow them from a distance he turned and winked quickly. Jack grinned and crept toward the living room doorway. This was a man he'd heard so much about, a 'stuttering geek' grandpa had called him once, but he'd laughed when he said it and guessed he was kidding. It was sad going over to the house earlier without his grandpa, but it was nice to be there - if he couldn't be around his grandpa anymore then being around all his stuff was the next best thing. Standing in the doorway he listened in on the conversation. His father handed his grandpa's favorite photo of Sam to Doctor Jackson. He remembered asking about it when he was very young and didn't quite understand the history of the Stargate programme:

"_Who's that?"_

_"That Jack, is Sam."_

_"Were you two married, Grandpa?"_

_"No, we weren't, but…but I loved her. I loved her a lot."_

_"Where's Sam now, Grandpa?"_

_"Sam's in heaven now, Jack; and even though she's not around anymore…I still love her. I'll always love her." Jack noticed tears a tear trailing down his grandfather's weathered face and climbing onto his lap, wiped it away._

_"I love you Grandpa."_

_"I love you too, Jack."_

Doctor Jackson was more than convinced at the man's story and was slowly coming to terms with the fact that the man he still considered one of his best friends, despite being out of contact for the past 25 years. The photograph was the genuine original, as were the other few items from Jack's house. Most curious of all however was the open box of scribblings, a pile of which was lying face down on the table indicating it had already been read.

"What's that?" Daniel asked pointing at the open boxes, breaking the contemplative silence.

"Hmm? That's-" Steve stopped when his son crept into the room from the hallway. "Jack you're supposed to be in bed!"

"I couldn't sleep. I miss grandpa. Mom doesn't do bedtime stories like grandpa did."

"Jack! – oh, right." Daniel muttered to himself, remembering the telephone conversation.

"Apparently Jack O'Neill used to tell my son bedtime stories about the adventures of SG-1." Steve glared at his son mock-accusingly.

"It was a secret." Young Jack blushed.

"How about I come tuck you in and tell you a story. Would that do?" Jack sleepily stuck his thumb in his mouth and with the other hand grabbed the doctor's hand. The elderly professor looked back towards the boy's father who nodded dumbly, feeling completely out of the loop, and went back to studying the text. An autobiography was the last thing he expected this to be, but it was nothing other than riveting. When Daniel returned a short while later, with Jack finally consoled and asleep the two dug into the text and could still be found there when Jane came down the next morning for coffee. What was left of it. She discovered the two of them apparently reading through a monster of a book text. On the right was a large pile of sheets, between her husband and Dr. Jackson there was another pile which their guest proceeded to pick up the bottom sheet face down sheet and discarded the sheet he'd just finished face down on a final stack on his left. Both were concentrating with avid curiosity and childlike fascination, despite their ages. An empty pot of coffee sat on the coffee table beside two discarded cups of coffee. They didn't even notice her. Laughing she went to tend to her son.

* * *

That day was spent up reading as much of the text as possible and a visit across the road to Jack O'Neill's house. Daniel was simultaneously bowled over and grief-stricken but felt relieved for his friend that his troubled life was finally behind him. That afternoon however, just as they started to discuss how or whether to break the news, the local news van rolled into the street. Both men suspected that a neighbor who had sighted the unlikely presence of Daniel Jackson in the neighborhood had tipped them off. In the end Steve was about to send them away assuring them that they were mistaken. After hearing of Steve's 'loss' they were too polite to dispute his claim. However both men agreed that it was a close call and from his experience with the media Daniel advised it was better to come clean sooner rather than later.

"I think the best thing to do would be do it exclusively. To a journalist we trust." The professor advised. Steve's eyes lit up. You could practically see the lightbulb flash on above his head.

"James Robertson!" Daniel gestured for him to elaborate.

"He was one of Jon's students. Thanks to Jon's tutoring he got a college scholarship. His situation was complicated, the fees were being paid through a fund his parents had left for him but there was only enough for him to finish school, and barely that. He always loved English, and was forever grateful to Jon for what he did – he used to send him letter, let his old teacher know what he was up to. He's currently an up and coming journalist at CNN." And so after a lot of raking around looking for the letter they finally got the contact details. The story broke on Monday morning. Within the hour all the networks in America were broadcasting it, by lunchtime men and women all over the world had stopped whatever they were doing and sat glued to their radios, televisions and other news outlets. It was one of those moments people would remember for the rest of their lives – when Kennedy got shot; when Columbia blew up; when the Stargate programme became public; when Jack O'Neill died. There were two days of national mourning for this man they knew almost nothing about except that they were still there because of him.

The day the news broke the infamous documentary produced, during which Samantha Carter and Janet Frasier had died offworld was broadcast; A week after his death, Colonel Jack O'Neill (retired) was given a state funeral which wasbroadcast worldwide and attended by literally millions of ordinary Americans, politicians, dignitaries, onworld leaders, offworld leaders and allies. In the 25 years since his death, Jack O'Neill's fame had grown to mythic proportions, both on Earth, among her allies and even her enemies. Daniel could almost hear Jack yelling, "ah, for cryin' out loud!" at it all and had to stifle a laughwith a coughing fit halfway through the ceremony. All the members of the SGC were there, old and new, as was Teal'c and Cassie. However, chief mourner appeared to be a young boy from South Dakota, and due to his persuasion the president had given permission for the deceased to be buried in the same grave as Major Samantha Carter'sin Arlington, the two of them finally reunited after a quarter of a century.

As for the book, it had to be published in volumes, but was a best seller of truly astronomical proportions, to use exactly the right word. It was comedy, love story, action/adventure, war novel, family drama, and science fiction all rolled into one. After it's publication Daniel suddenly found himself having a lot less of 'those arguments' as people were reminded they hadn't got to where they were by "shooting indiscriminately at anything that moved," although he resented slightly the fact that it was Jack of all people that made the administration less militarily focused. Jim Robertson's career rocketed after his exclusive and eventually rose to become in charge of offworld reporting. Daniel continued his academic career and despite his fame, Steve continued to teach English. Jack,as he'd promised, grew up to become a famous astrophysicist, 'just like Sam Carter' but amid his large collection of dusty books there was one he prized more than all the rest, the one that started like this:

For Jack,

Hopefully one day you'll understand.

What his grandfather didn't seem to realize, is that somehow, he always had.

* * *

A/N: Well there it is guys, hope it wasn't toogut wrenching.I'm already working on the next one but rest assured it's more of a 'happily ever after' sort of fic. Now go and click the purple button. Thankyou for reading. 


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